Freedom Never Seemed Further Away
by striving-for-perfection
Summary: Told from Ellie's point of view, this story goes into depth of her cutting addiction as well as her blossoming romance with Sean. Questionable drugsalcohol and language. Ellie feels at the same time she is both gainging and losing control of her life....


**DISCLAIMER:** I don't own any of the Degrassi characters except for Dr. Kelly and Diane in this chapter. I will probably make up more in the chapters to come, but there will be a disclaimer at the top of each one.  
**SUMMERY:** This chapter introduces the readers to Ellie's cutting problem (in case you don't know the whole story) and she is supposed to have been seeing this therapist since the whole incident with Paige and her parents found out. You don't see any prompt of Ellie being with Sean yet, but that will be in the next chapter. Promise. R&R please! Compliments or constructive criticism is encouraged! :) Happy reading!

* * *

"The next time you feel the urge to cut," Dr. Kelly was saying, "just snap an elastic band against your wrist. This is a therapeutic technique that has not failed a patient of mine yet. It will substitute the painful feeling without drawing blood or leaving an ugly gash. This is obviously a temporary solution, but hopefully by the time we are done with your treatment you will no longer feel the need to harm yourself." She looked up from my wrists and grinned, flashing pearly white teeth that looked far too perfect to be natural.  
I just nodded in response.  
"Just don't snap too hard," she said cautiously, touching my arm hesitantly. Her fingers were cold, her fingernails perfectly manicured. However they, too, looked fake. Just like everything else about her. I smiled back anyway. "Then you could hurt yourself and it would prove the tactic to be useless," she said, still smiling. As if that would stop me. If I was going to hurt myself, I wasn't going to just go 50% of the way. She and I both knew it. But what we also knew was that if we both shut up about the treatment not improving my "condition", my parents would get off my back and she would get a nice wad of cash to buy a new pair of Jimmy Choos or whatever else the hell she needed to perfect her already perfect physical persona. It was like a silent deal the two of us had made the day I walked in for the first time.  
Someone was knocking on the door. "Diane?" they were saying. Dr. Kelly stood and brushed imaginary dust off her black slacks and headed over to the door, smiling. Always smiling.  
"Yes?" she said, cracking it open.  
"Mrs. Nash is wondering if we could maybe cut the appointment short today, she says she has a meeting she only just remembered."  
"Oh, of course, Karla. Give us just a minute for some closure," she said, her glossy lips catching the light from the window as she beamed at her assistant. She closed the door carefully and made her way back to her chair. When she was seated, she took my hands in hers and looked into my eyes carefully.  
"Let's take it from here," she said. "In time, Ellie Nash, you will be cured." Although I knew this was probably just another line of hers, her face warmed my heart at that moment. I felt like, for a fleeting moment, maybe she was right. Maybe I was getting better. I then realized what I was thinking and felt the blood rush to my face in embarrassment for being so gullible. And for even thinking something as farfetched as me being better could be true.  
"Sure," I said, trying to act normal. "Thanks," I said, breaking the eye contact.  
As soon as I left that room, I took to the elastic band for solace. As if I didn't already have enough to be confused about, why not throw on another weight to the pile. Would I ever get better?  
But then I remembered. My case was one that could not be helped. And nothing would probably ever change that.  
  
"How did it go?" Mother said once we were in the car. I sighed.  
"Don't want to talk about it," I said simply and let my head drop onto the side of the car. I felt her eyes on me, but then she went back to the road and smoking her fucking cigarette. She was probably already on her third pack of the day. I closed my eyes and absentmindedly flicked the rubber band against my skin.  
"Well, I pulled you out because we pay by the hour, and it didn't sound as if much activity was going on in there. The least she could do is assure us that she's _trying_ to figure out what's the matter with you. Paying twenty dollars an hour for a month, and you've still yet to move an inch in healing," she took another drag. "Honestly. With your father gone, we're basically taking my money straight from my paycheck and it's going into her wallet! The day I see improvement is the day pigs fly by the way things are going now!"  
I opened my eyes just as we were pulling into the driveway. When she didn't open the garage I realized that she must've had to go to work. I opened up the car door and looked back at her, waiting for an her to say something.  
"There's macaroni salad in the refrigerator. I'll be home by four, please get to bed at a reasonable hour," she said. "Goodnight, Ell-Bell." With that she blew me a kiss and then she was off.  
  
My kitchen smelled like old birthday cake and vodka. Sometimes I liked being in my house alone. There was something about it... like you could truly be yourself with no limits or guidelines—no one watching. You don't need to cover up anything or worry about what people are thinking. It's freedom.  
But other times, freedom couldn't seem farther. I'm alone with my compulsions, thinking, _Well, no one's here. It's the perfect opportunity to be miserable. You know where the razors are._ The loneliness consumes me quickly, like it can't wait to move in. But I try to avoid it for as long as I can, until mother comes home, or until I just have to give in.


End file.
